Summary:Cassandra's people-watching turns to person-watching after Alex catches her interest at the Met Gala. Log Info:Storyteller: None |
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A day in the life of Alexander Aaron, age 19.
It starts in the morning, fairly early. The place where he sleeps has no defenses. No security. No monitoring systems. It's a third floor apartment with two other students living there as well. They sleep much longer than Alex who rises early and heads off to class, usually toting an NYU backpack, blue. It being the start of the Fall session, there are many newcomers. Many new faces. Happy ones, rushing around the wide areas between the tall college buildings. Easy to slip in with them. Easy to avoid being seen.
The gathering of students he attends seems to be a very tired one. Many sleepy. Though he seems intent on his laptop that he pulls from that backpack at the start of the class session after setting up his recorder. Headphones over his head, watching intently.
Lunch time is a quick trip through the cafeteria, something taken out to the Quad where he sits down in front of a tree if possible, settling in. Though again the laptop steals his attention, headphones on. He knits his brow as he clicks through things on that screen, using it.
Then another long class, 3 hours this one. With a quiz at the end of all things? On the first day! Rude. He looked up as they were being handed out and the look of incredulity was visible so easily most anyone could pick it up.
But then the day ended and he left to take a break once more. Out on the grass and with the tree behind him. Though at this point… she might well see his hands move as he makes three small motions. Perfectly formed as if he had known how to all along. It said to her,
« Who are you? »
That was all he signed at first. Getting those movements down with the clean uncurling of his hands. A few more tries, and then he focused more on the reading. The studying of whatever video he had found that taught him that.
Only for him to realize abruptly that he was late. He ate the last of his sandwich in a rush and slung his backpack over his shoulder as he ran off towards the school gymnasium, tossing the trash in the can as he ran and checking his watch. Through the double doors he entered a small training and weights room, but he wasn't alone. There were seven other students apparently all there, dressed comfortably to move, including his two roommates. And apparently while he was there… he taught them to have voices.
Oh not strong ones. Just small movements as if teaching toddlers how to speak. Their bodies going through the combat motions hesitantly. And he was there to gently correct, and help. And they all seemed to enjoy it, with a warmth of regard between them.
And then they left him to attend to cleaning up. After that he returned home… and his day would start again tomorrow.
Cassandra Cain had recognized Alex at the gala, and the display of inhuman strength was enough on its own for her to be curious. So she returned to the place she'd seen him before since, knowing nothing about him she had no other idea on how to find one person in a city of millions. And luckily for her, he returned.
There's little enough for the Bat-types to do during the day, unless they're crazy enough to hold down regular jobs. That gives Cassandra time to indulge her curiosity. She catches up with Alex during his lunch hour, partially blending in with the diversity of the student body and partially keeping out of sight. She doesn't bother to get close enough to hear anything he says, since the words matter little, but as he signs out that question, that she can easily understand at a distance and only heightens her curiosity.
Trailing him to the gym is a bit more tricky. Less people to blend in with, and she needs to be a bit more active about her stealth but for the most part students are oblivious and Alex is the only one she's especially mindful of keeping out of sight. As he works with the others, she watches with a mixture of amusement and fascination.
And then he heads home, closing out his day. By then, she needs to start hers but she swings by (literally) at a few points in the night to see if he's still there or, if like, her, he goes out at night. But no. No costumed antics.
It's not until the end of his next class at the gym, when he's cleaning up that she finally chooses to step in. Garbed in her black and yellow costume, with her mask on and hood up he's alone in the gym one moment and then as he turns back around she's perched on the bleachers. Watching. As if she's been there the whole time and somehow went unnoticed.
She had likely been there long enough to see the small class. Today it was just seven of them, one perhaps not able to make it. But from her vantage point she saw how he stood at the front of the class and talked to them, gesturing at times and his manner was so casual and at ease. They all got along well. Calisthenics at first, and then technique instruction, and then paired off execution. Sometimes she'd hear their voices, and perhaps not be able to fully understand.
"C'mon, Tanner, just ten more man." Alexander's voice was encouraging to his roommate who was a little shorter but a good deal heavier.
Or when a technique needed correction, "You pull the wrist here and hold it close, then you straighten your arm under their chin. Like that."
And through it all she could /see/ that when he spoke to them that in many ways this was his voice, his body language clear and without deception. Event though there was that small hint of wariness that seemed ever present with him. This was sincerity in physical form.
And then, later that evening when he had been cleaning up, pulling one of those large blue mats onto his back and starts to tote it across the room. He turns, the fabric hissing on the ground only to look up and there she was.
The mat goes fwumpf as he drops it from his hand.
"Oh. Hey!" The words echo loudly in the empty gym and he straightens up to his full height, wincing a little when the echoes get back to him.
He's bare foot, with long grey gym shorts and a white t-shirt that has a small pink kitten square in the middle of it. As he looks at her he holds up a hand, "Wait."
And then he signs to her, slowly, as if trying to make sure it's right.
« Who are you? »
The Alex that Cassandra has observed dealing with people during the day is different from the one she sees here in class. While most people are a confusing muddle of hidden motives and desires Alexander has a sort of clear separation between who she sees him as, and what he shows others.
As he spots her, she's so very still. There's none of the casual fidgeting that most people have. It's like someone pressed 'pause' on her, even as he makes his loud exclamation. It's only as he signs to her that there is the curious tilt of her head.
Of course, she's seen him practicing asking this question, and so her answer comes back easily. Smoothly. Gloved hands come up to finger-spell out a single word. ORPHAN. Only then is there a slight pause, before she moves in an echo of his own. "« Who are you? »"
His blue eyes seek hers, as if trying to look behind those eyelets in her mask. He does move forward a little. Just a step, then a few more. As if afraid she might rush off and disappear again into the night. "Orphan?" He asks, though she can tell that he is not as clear on the signs but there is a focus in him. As if summoning his concentration by sheer force of will.
"I'm Alexander," The youth says and then slowly signs out, "A-J-E-X." Not perfect. And it's clear he doesn't catch his own mistake.
He lifts his head up to her and gestures as he says, "Would you like to come down?" Off the bleachers and onto the floor. But he looks away his brow knitted with intensity as he holds up a hand, about to sign something but looking for the right words.
Then back to her he signs, hesitantly, but he gets the message through. « I. Won't. Hurting. You. »
There's a small smile, then he adds at the end. « Promise. » As if she were afraid of him?
When she's not in movement, 'Orphan' seems to fall into an odd stillness. A quietness about her that goes beyond the lack of talking. As he repeats her name, she doesn't nod, but perhaps she didn't hear him. When he gives his own, she repeats it back to him in a near-perfect mimicry of his own. Including the mistake. It also isn't as clean as when she gave her own name, since she's really just repeating his motion and not spelling individual letters. To her, it's all one movement that others will read the letters of. When she was given her own, her teacher was precise in the lettering, and thus so is she.
At the invitation the dark figure drops down easily, strolling over towards him. He can see the tilt of her head to watch as he signs his question. There's the hint of a smile in the way the shadows shift on that full face mask and her reply is sharp. Confident. "« Can't. »" The easy assumption is she's being brief to accommodate his beginner ASL skill. The truth is that the ASL really just helps her to express concepts in ways others can understand. As a language, she still has trouble with it. Even as he signs to her, it's watching Alex's body as much as his signing that she 'reads'.
That seemed to confuse him and she could read it in the way his head tilted just a little. A small smile lighting to life even as he blinks a little. But perhaps he just misread it. So he shakes his head a little and as she draws near she can feel a hint of tension enter him.
Not the sly wariness that seems to guide him at times, for that 'voice' seems gone in her presence as his focus… is unified. No the tension seems to come from her nearness. And when she stops his lips part just slightly with a small breath drawn in. He swallows, moistening his lips quickly then he turns his head to the side.
« You. » He points at her, and then his eyes lift upwards as his thoughts return to that night those few days ago. Frustration flickers through those gentle eyes but then relaxes as if realizing how to say what he wishes.
Three steps back quickly taken, clearing room from her. Then he signs again to her, « You. »
Then his lithe athletic form twists smoothly into movement. It's a blurring windmill of one arm swirling around and forward as he slips his weight back onto one foot and crouching low, hand setting to the ground silently as if making ready. A Wushu stance she has used before at times as a base of motion. Yet she can read there is no aggression in his movement. This is not him attacking, or striking. And upon seeing how his left foot is turned slightly inwards, perhaps a small subtle change in how she executes the stance…
This is him being her.
And then he rushes forwards, leaping into the air, leading with his right foot and drawing back to feign an impact as he rolls. Turning smoothly upon the ground in a blurring gyre as his foot slices along the ground to take an invisible attacker down. Then as he rises his elbow lashes out stopping at the precise moment when she had taken down the second and then /hurled/ him into… where Alexander was taking down the other.
The last movements of their shared fight. Recreated, with her own small accents and signature that he had picked up on.
And then his smile was wide as he looked to her and there was such… openness in that expression as he signed the other word he had learned with deep study.
« Amazing. »
There's the slight tilt of her head again as she watches him. Taking in that tension. A sort of nervousness. She slips a step closer, and then back, gauging it, before being distracted as he begins to speak. And then as he falls 'silent', there's the shift of her shoulders, the slight cock of her hip, perhaps some amusement at his frustration.
But when he begins again, that slips away. Watching as he works to speak to her. Surprised, even, at the level of attention to detail even days later. She taps next to her eye, and then points at him. Not actual ASL, but a compliment to his observation he might be able to interpret easily enough.
Cassandra isn't sure how to take the compliment. Her father certainly never gave them out, and no is her current mentor prone to. It's the sort of awe that he wears so openly that really makes it awkward for her and, unsure how to answer, she signs back with a bit of hesitation: "« Yes. »" After all, that *was* her. In some detail, even.
She repeats the motion she made before, though this time he might understand it. "« You. Strong. »" And then she mimes the crushing of the gun. It would be easy for most to overlook that, given she was engaged in fighting at the time, but apparently she caught it.
He brushes a hand over his wild mop of hair, trying to give it some semblance of order after that leap and movement, but it's still a bit ragged. Though when she answers his statement simply with a 'yes' his smile widens and he sort of rolls his eyes to the side. "You're so modest."
She might not be able to tell but his stance is like… those times she has been out and about and see two youths standing near each other, talking to each other awkwardly. And when one or the other had an affection for some reason but hides it in making light of the other? Teasing as a concept, difficult to convey.
But that is what it is in that small moment. Only in this instant she is the target.
Tilting his smile back to her she gives him that message but he only gets it when she mimics the crushing of the weapon. His lips part in a silent 'ah' and he nods and lifts a hand to waggle it back and forth. "Sometimes." He says, though she may not understand.
"I ummm," He looks up and his hands open towards her as he gets ready to try to convey. He points at himself, « My. »
Then he signs out, « D. A. D. »
And then he grins a little and turns to the side to very theatrically and with a small laugh he /flexes/ his left bicep with a grunt as if to convey that his dad. Is strong. Though, to be fair, his own arm is lined with a powerfully tight whipcord of a muscle. But the sentiment is perhaps clear. « Is strong. »
Cassandra Cain lifts her hands out to the sides, palms-up as her shoulders rise and fall in a shrug as he calls out her lack of modesty. Hey, she didn't know what else to say to that! She doesn't actually hear his sarcasm, just that amusement.
Her head tilts down a bit as she watches his feet with some interest. She doesn't need to for her overall understanding of his mannerisms, but it's caught her interest, so she focuses on it a bit. But then he's talking and she looks back up as he does so, tilting her head to the side again as he qualifies his strength.
The fingerspelling that's a staple of ASL goes over his head, but it will likely be a bit before he figures that out. Especially as she intuits he's talking about someone else. That gets a moment's thoughtful pause and then she she moves.
It's a sudden, zero-to-sixty thing. One moment she's standing there still and ready and the next she's striking out with a palm-strike at the center of his chest, the whole of her body flowing into it and when it strikes him it's… more like a quick shove. A practiced eye would see just how much restraint is used. So careful and contained.
Much as she was with the gunmen the other night. Maybe in his careful mimicry of her he would notice it. For all her diminutive size, she was *not* going flat-out. She pulled every strike.
The abrupt shift catches him as he's looking back from the pose, his smile still wry as he turns back towards her… only to get the heel of her palm in his chest just enough to shove him back and cause him to stumble a step… two.
The change that comes over him is so bright as his eyes widen a little, then they narrow as he turns his head to the side. Fighting against his own smile to try and keep it straight only creating a comical attempt at hiding it.
He turns his head back and it's only then, as he flows into a stance with his hips turned and one hand held forward, palm out toward her as if formally recognizing her as an opponent, the other hand held low and closed into a fist by his waist. Only then that it might seem as if they can truly communicate. As the way he meets her eyes and tells her…
// Do you want to build a snow man? //
Perhaps not conveyed in those exact words, but it's what comes through in the smile and the slightly widening eyes…
As he steps forwards and starts to let his body uncoil with an easy short sharp rhythm of a punch toward her shoulder, then low toward her hip, with a stiffened arm seeking to swirl around hers and press against her side. The opening three moves when practicing with a Mu Ren Zhuang, the wooden practice dummies with the stiffened arms.
Not trying so much to hit her and with no strength behind it, more as if to say hello.
It is at once fascinating and makes perfect sense that here, now, in this, she sees the projected persona that he affects fall away. Here there is truth and clarity.
Cassandra's fallen back into that 'at rest' sort of stance as Alex is considering and stays like that as he draws himself into his stance. As his body asks that question, the playfulness dancing through intent, he can just hear the soft breath of a chuckle and when he steps forward, she moves with him in perfect sync, as though he were an extension of him and not some other person.
As he makes those opening moves, she recognizes them and their intent and repeats them back to him. He can feel the rough edge of the material of her costume. The hardness beneath that likely bespeaks some armored reinforcement. After that initial exchange is given, she steps back a few steps, falling into her own easy stance with one arm outstretched and her fingers flicking back towards herself in a 'come on' sort of gesture.
At that come on gesture she can see the flicker of wariness there, his head turning to the side so he can give her the side eye that conveys it, though it's accompanied by the still fought off smile. He's wary, because he knows how good she is. But there is no fear in him. Which might surprise her, as even at times when she practices with her brothers on some level… there might be fear.
He unfurls into shifting stance a mirror's representation of her own. That pink kitten on his t-shirt twisting with his movement to the side and cutely drawing the eye. Then he flows forwards in the form of a crane, only he's moving in broad sweeping whorls, spinning to the side as his leg lifts and uncurls before her, a circular kick that has him leaping off the ground and the other leg coming back in a follow up strike. Yet languid in execution, and avoided if she only steps back.
But her stance had been so composed and compact, and now his is so wide and flowing. Almost as if here in the gymnasium, he's teasing her in an entirely different way.
The children of the Bat tend to be careful, and they know very little about Cassandra. The Bat made the decision to bring her in, but that was largely done on faith and the others haven't had a ton of interaction with her. Enough to know she's good, and that they know very, very little about her. So she's used to that wariness. But that usually comes with *some* level of fear. Fear that's lacking in Alex.
Cassandra is still as he moves, presumably watching, though that's hard to tell with the full face mask cast into shadow by her hood, as he moves in the graceful, flowing movements of the Crane. Slow and teasing, there's the slick cock of her head as she angles out of the way and then moves with shorter, sharper movements as she slides in behind that kick that's now passed her by, turning and dropping and bringing her elbow in at his knee. Careful not to potentially break the joint as she tries to take his leg out from under him while he's got all of his weight on it.
She's able to sliiide forward and with a hooked finger stab towards his knee, catching the joint as if it were a button that she tripped and caused it to roll up, stealing his support as he falls backwards onto the mats behind, almost as if she had planned it.
Yet he catches himself as he falls, following through with it as he rolls up onto his shoulders, his long legs kicking upwards and helping him carry through with the momentum until he /pushes/ himself back up and onto his feet with a flip.
Only for his hands to snap up held open and to the side as if he held a cup or a bottle in each hand. His eyebrows go wonky as he sways one way and the other, seeming to stumble and feigning such an inebriated state that it to others it might seem real.
But for her he makes light of his fall, joking with her and offering that as the small punch-line. A small 'hiccup' seems to come from him and then he flows forwards, a steady stream of seven punches one after the other with those crooked hands, perhaps forcing her to retreat under the onslaught and then spinning around, hoping to catch her arm with his own.
As if they might share a drink together.
As Alex goes down, Cassandra lets the flow of her movement take her into a sitting position as he rolls backwards and then flips back up to his feet. With one elbow resting on a knee and her chin in cupped palm, the manner she affects bespeaks boredom. A sort of 'that all you got?'.
The shift into a drunken style doesn't get much of a reaction, though it's hard to read too much from her given the costume, and when he flows forward leading with those punches she doesn't move in *response* to him. She moves *with* him. As though she were perhaps telepathic.
She does retreat, sort of. Leaning back and away as he comes forward and bringing up a foot to push his punches up and into the air as she rolls backwards and comes up onto her feet even as he's spinning.
Cassandra lets him catch her arm only to tighten that hold and twist it into a throw before straightening and cocks her head to the side again. He's managed to confuse her, even as he speaks clearly. Because playing and teasing, those are things she doesn't quite understand.
There's a moment as she catches his arm, where his is curled around hers, and it's just a shared instant. Closeness. His bright bluish and hazel eyes, with a… a depth of something yellow deep behind them. They're bright and gleam with such enjoyment of the moment.
And it's just a second. Warmth, nearness, a shared breath. A bare second when his grip eases a little…
Yet then she tightens, twists, and hurls him to the side where he rolls with the movement, catching with one hand and swirling to his feet to bring his fists into line with her almost perfectly in a Northern Hung Gar stance.
But then he rises, standing straight as the stance falls from him. And she can see in his stance, in his eyes. He has a question. He uncurls a hand towards her at first touching his chest and the pink kitty here, then lightly bringing his fingers to his face and pantomiming drawing something off of it. Then he tilts his head towards her.
Asking, if she'd take off her mask.
While Alex slides from stance to stance, form to form, style to style, she… doesn't. He can recognize *pieces*. But it's like someone took everything he knows and broke them, throwing away the flair and flavor and piecing the rest back together into a new whole. Perfect efficiency. Efficiency he can see her adding pauses into to stumble along in his playing.
When Alex makes his request, he gets another of those pauses as she takes time to think. Something she doesn't need to do in combat, but does when dealing with other things. Like this request. When she responds, the ASL might be too far beyond his learning and not helped by her broken mastery of it. "« Protect friends. »" What the Bats told her. Keeping her identity was important to keep the others safe.
He may not understand the sign, but he can understand the reluctance. She can see him mulling that over and giving a slow nod as he can understand and his eyes distance a little as he gives it some thought. "I wouldn't…" He starts to say then holds up his hands as he looks to the side.
« I. » He points at himself, then shakes his head. « Wouldn't. » And then he makes that sign that he used before, mistakenly again. « Hurting. » He tells her that and she can read the sincerity in the tension of his body, giving it a weight of regard.
Then he says, "But." As he holds up a hand.
« I. » Again points to himself, and then points at his head and nods a few times. « Understand. » Perhaps enough to convey.
He turns away and looks back towards his backpack where he left it near the door, and murmurs to himself. "Phones won't really help." As if trying to puzzle something out.
He points at her, points at himself. And then opens his arms as if indicating the entire room, the school, the city? But then points at her and himself. And then perhaps inspiration strikes and he touches his chest and points at her. Holds up two fingers apart like a peace sign up, then closes the fingers so they are no longer apart. But are together.
And then without warning he breaks into a run, scooping up his shoes from where they were left and /leaps/ into the air to plant a foot on the wall, bouncing off of it to flip up into the air and on the bleachers where she first arrived. And then points to the window from whence she came. He spreads his hands wide as if to say, 'Well? Come on.' Then grins and taps a finger to his watch, tilting his head to the side and bringing his hands up as if he were asleep.
But then the last symbol is him mirroring hers as if to say 'come show me what you got.'
Communicating is so *hard*! Even as Alex works to be extra explicit in conveying his meaning to her, his focus on the words muddies things up for her. As he speaks, she closes the distance between them, her steps not even a whisper on the floor without even trying.
As Alex muses about the phones, she reaches out and places her hands on them, tightening a bit and holding them in place. Lifting one, she touches his lips with two fingers and then gestures back towards herself. Then she squeezes both his hands in place again. It's easier for her if he just talks, and she can read him that way. Without being distracted by him focusing on his (bad) signing.
As he mimes the rest, her shoulders shake a bit with silent laughter. The turn of her head tracks him as he runs and leaps, and when he 'asks' his question there's a slight shake of her head before she follows his path, running though she has no shoes to collect, leaping and springboarding off of the wall into that easy flip. All without his Olympian physique as she lands behind him. The almost sassy tilt of her head seems to say: Anything You Can Do, I Can Do Better. And then she's slipping out the window. Guess he'll have to catch up.
"Oh you…" Alex says as a small laugh slips from him even as she darts out onto the roof. Only he lags a little behind as he half hop-hops trying to pull his shoe on as quickly as possible without losing sight of her.